


Going Home

by momopeachchild



Series: Dragon Age Writings [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Morrigan/Brosca Warden friendship, Morrigan/F!Warden friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:11:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momopeachchild/pseuds/momopeachchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of a drabble I wrote while playing DA:O. Less about action, more about introspection of the Brosca Warden returning to Orzammar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd.   
> Honestly there's very little action. I've noticed my writing tends to end up like that. I do apologize if the style isn't your cup of tea.

**_Brand._ **   
**_Casteless._ **   
**_Dirty._ **   
**_Disgusting._ **

The Frostback Mountains grew larger the closer they drew, and Natia felt sick. She was nothing there, and the guards would most likely take her into custody and execute her, Warden or not. Should she tell Alistair about that? Ah why bother, that could just be another thing on the list of things Alistair didn’t know.

 

“ _Have you looked at the treaties?”  
"…Of course."_

 

He didn't know he was probably too naive to realize, but the mark on her face meant something. It was more than body art, it was a brand, sunk so deep into her skin that she was sure it was on her bones. It meant she didn't exist in Orzammar, that she had no Caste, nor clan. The Ancestors turned their backs on her, that she knew nothing in life, but hunger, scorn, and violence. 

 

Alistair would not have known that being marked as she was meant she could not read, nor write beyond a small bit of Dwarvish. Rica had tried to teach her, but she had work to do for Beraht, and so did Natia. What did she need to learn to read or write for? She and Leske would probably die doing Beraht’s dirty work. But it changed, at the Provings, and Duncan had come and rescued her, and with everything after Ostagar, how could she tell him, when he was mourning so deeply?

 

Morrigan knew, had approached her one evening after Alistair had gone to rest, while she was on watch. It was a simple deal, do not look too closely at her magic, and she would help her learn to read and write. She agreed, adding that Alistair could never find out. With a nod, their accord was struck.

 

It was very, very slow work, between all the fighting and the ever growing camp. It was difficult to find ways to slip off to Morrigan’s tent that didn’t set tongues to wagging. The first time Zevran mentioned it, she had bristled, but ignored him. When he asked what a woman like Morrigan could offer her in the evenings, that any of the others could not, she had seen red.

 

Morrigan was her friend.   
Morrigan did not judge her for her past.  
Morrigan did not prefer women.

To insinuate that she and Morrigan were a couple, or at the very least spending nights together meant that the Witch would be associated with her, and to associate with her in such a manner meant that any dwarf would see her as a brand as well.

 

It took Sten literally hefting her up into his arms, and off of Zevran to calm her down. The Antivan was certainly surprised by the force with which she had managed to knock him over with, and more importantly to give him a black eye. Wynne tried to lecture her about how Wardens were to act, about responsibility and she stormed off into the dark, trying to judge when they would sleep.

 

Sten had first watch with Shale, so it would be easy to slip back to her tent, and it really was. She did not expect to find Zev there, and her hand went to her daggers, but he held his own out to show he was unarmed. “I am sorry, my dear Warden. I did not mean to touch a tender spot.”

 

"She is not my lover. She offered to help me with a private matter."  
"Oh?"  
"Yes."  
"You would not care to share?" he asked, and that damned grin was on his face again. It drove her mad, his light tone, the way he seemed to not care about anything. Her jaw set itself firmly as she shook her head, glaring at him, hoping he’d leave.

 

"What do you say to me making it up to you, hm? You’re always so tense, dear Warden!"  
"It will take more than that to get me out of my clothes, elf."  
"Ah, and she wounds me with her words!"  
"Go to bed, Zevran. You have late watch with Wynne."  
  


His face soured and he gracefully left, leaving her to her thoughts. Certainly the blonde would mock her if he knew, would slip it to Alistair, or worse Wynne. Still, she did not mind their flirtations. Really the more they did, the bigger the army they gathered, the more death they saw, the better it made her feel in some way. That there was still chances to be light hearted. 

 

Alistair tried to flirt, but he was so innocent she could not bear to taint him. Leliana was much the same, though she was a bard and knew of such things. Sten had no interests, it seemed, and Wynne was far too old for her liking. That left Zevran and Shale. It was hardly a difficult choice when she decided she needed some comfort.

 

And she told him, one evening after too much wine at Eamon’s castle, all of it. Her birth status, everything she had done for Beraht, leaving Leske, not knowing if her sister even lived! Once it had started to tumble out, all of it did. Ostagar, Lothering, Morrigan teaching her to read and write. Perhaps she should not have been surprised that he did not judge her, when he assured her that her past was nothing to be ashamed of. He should know, he was an assassin, and a son of a whore!

 

There was a comfort to being with Zevran, even if she was simply another name to his list. He could read her, just as she could read him, and he would always know when to pick at someone, in good fun just to bring a smile to her lips, though she quickly hid it. She was The Warden. She was serious, she was brave, her face had to remain impassive.

 

So when her steps grew heavier at the sight of the mountains, he started to complain about all this walking, and being hungry and tired. Thankfully, the others mentioned they could use a rest, and even Sten proclaimed it would be at least another day before they reached their destination. So they made camp. It was going fine, everyone studiously ignoring how tense and snippy her responses came.

 

"You go tomorrow, Alistair. Speak to the king, get the troops."  
"Why me?"  
"You’re a Grey Warden just as much as I am! More so, since you’ve been at this longer."  
"But you’re a dwarf! You know their customs!"  
"I don’t know them anymore than you do!"  
"Duncan said you were from Orzammar!"  
  


Natia stood from the log she had sat upon quickly, climbing onto it to be at eye level with Alistair. 

 

"I may have been born under that mountain, in those tunnels, but I have never been from there. I knew nothing about Redcliffe, or Eamon, the Circle, but you did. You thrust me into the leadership role, when I knew nothing. I have fought the undead, demons, werewolves and worse, and never once did I complain. I’m asking you to do one thing, Alistair, one thing! When have I ever done that?"

 

Before he could reply, she hopped off the log and stormed away, face red even in the dark. All eyes in camp remained on him, and he sighed, pressing his hands to his face. “Maker, she is impossible!” He groaned, settling down to sit on the very log she left. He jumped when hot breath caressed his ear. “Perhaps, my dear Bastard Prince, you should think on her words.” Before the ex-templar could turn, Zevran was gone, off after the dwarf and he was left confused. Why wouldn’t she want to go to Orzammar, why wouldn’t that be her home? He shook his head, and got up. He needed to talk to Wynne.

 

Zevran found her beating away at a tree with a stick she had found. Well at least she had sense enough not to use her weapons. He settled back against another tree, keeping watch. Finally, the stick dropped from her hands, hardly more than splinters now and her shoulders dropped forward, her forehead against the tree.

 

"He really is an idiot."  
"Yes, yes he is."  
"And Eamon wants to make him king."  
"That he does."  
  


The blonde did not mention the odd thickness to the Warden’s voice, nor the shaking of her shoulders. She would come to him when she was ready. Meanwhile, he could try to make her feel a bit less heavy. “I have some herbs that when ground into a powder will make his trousers very uncomfortable.” She sniffled a little and turned to him, cheeks dry, but that meant nothing. He had learned to not cry ages ago, but that did not mean he never felt the urge to. Silently, he opened his arms and she curled up against him, eyes closed tightly. His fingers worked through her hair, noting that it was getting long, and realized with some dismay she would probably cut it soon. The very short hair was fine, but he did like the bit of length. 

 

"Rica might be dead."  
"It is a possibility, yes."  
"They might kill me."  
"They might try, cara, but they will not succeed!"

 

Her head turned to look at him, confusion on her face. That word he had used, cara, held more in it than she realized he felt. But that damned flippant smile was there again, and she knew it was as much a mask as her stern face was. Perhaps one day, they could leave them both behind. He continued to stroke her hair and sighed.

 

"You know it could be an act of war, making Alistair go in there alone."  
"He wouldn’t be alone. I’d make you go with."  
"Yes, because he listens to me."  
There was a long pause, where Natia merely held his fingers, his hand in hers and sighed heavily. She did not want to have to face her past, yet there it was, looming quite literally over them.

 

"I’m going to have to go in."  
"Yes."  
"Sod it."  
  


She rose, hand still holding his and he followed, right to Morrigan’s tent. It was time for her lesson, and while the witch didn’t like him, he was good at keeping watch. When it concluded, he led her back to his tent, for nothing more than to ease her tension, and try to keep the nightmares at bay.

 

**

 

Faryn was easy to find the next morning, and Natia was sure Sten enjoyed scaring the man just as much as she did. And Loghain’s men were easy to dispatch, just as the bounty hunters had been. Getting past the guards had been alright, but the moment she set foot back into the market district, she knew things were going to be as easy as kissing a deep stalker. 

 

The deshyrs were fighting, quite literally in the streets, and the very first guard they came across demanded her permit to carry weapons, called her a brand, and she kept her head held high as she explained she was a Warden. He didn’t apologize, just warned her to stay out of trouble. Natia couldn’t bring herself to look at Alistair. They continued on, picking up requests from people in need, and she got into a few arguments about whether she was a Warden or not. At least Alistair had sense to keep his mouth shut, and Zevran kept his hands to himself. Yet there was no avoiding it, she had to go to the Diamond Quarter, and there she saw the last person in all of Ferelden, in all of Thedas standing there.

 

"Rica?"

 

It all moved so quickly after, she was Bhelen’s consort, had given him a son, raised their mother out of the slums. Still she kept her face neutral, now was not the time to let her emotions flow. Every noble there was eyeing them, and one wrong move could have the guards called. Bhelen’s man had papers that she knew were fake, that he wanted her to give out. She really didn’t like either noble, but if it kept Rica safe, to name her father’s child king, she’d find away.  She could tell Vartag knew she knew they were fake. She hadn’t survived Dust town by being an idiot. But she kept her mouth shut, did the task, and spent more time fighting off Harrowmont’s fanatics than anything else.

 

They had let her into the palace, and she found her sister easily and they had an earnest conversation. Natia even let a smile on her face and tears fill her eyes when Rica spoke of little Endrin, her nephew. Of course their mother ruined the moment, and she left with a hug for her sister, and soft words to stop drinking from her mother. Morrigan stopped her, briefly, to express her sympathies, and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. Patting her hand, she realized that they would have to go back to Dust Town, and that it would be a mess. 

 

And it was. It was horrible, and she closed her heart and her mind off for a while, running on autopilot, letting her feet take her where she knew to go. Alistair knew now, that she had been part of the carta, and soon the others would. There was no “if they got out alive”. They were leaving alive, because Natia survived once down there, she’d do it again.  Killng Jarvia had been a pleasure, but Leske had hurt, deep in her chest. She had even stumbled after he stopped breathing, and they had to catch her. She had to breathe past it, and she did, shaking off everyone’s hands before they continued on.

 

They broke for camp, to rest and restock for what was to come. The Deep Roads. Shale was insistent that she come, and who was Natia to say no? Zevran was also very insistent, but with Oghren demanding he come with, she had to choose. He had the map, they couldn’t leave him behind. Finally, it was agreed that they would need a healer with them, just in case, and Morrigan offered to accompany them, before Wynne could.

 

It was not as though Natia disliked Wynne, she just was not in the mood some days, to have the older woman try to mentor her. She’d been taking care of herself and Leske since  they were kids. She’d become a Grey Warden at seventeen! She just didn’t need a lecture every other discussion.

 

It was with a tender kiss in her tent, that she parted with Zevran, to get an early start. Who knew how long they’d been in the Deep Roads? Oghren was thankfully silent when she slipped out of her tent, and Zevran right after. “Do not let the Darkspawn get to you, dear Warden. Then I would be in quite the pickle with our agreement!”

 

Turning as she walked out of camp, she shook her head fondly. “If I die at the hands of darkspawn, you have my permission to stay and fight, or flee as you wish.” She offered and he bowed with great flourish before they left.

 

**

 

It was finally done. Branka was dead. So was her house, minus one now ex-husband. Carridin was also dead, but he had given her a boon, a crown with his family’s mark to give to the king she chose. Shale knew some of who she had been. Still it was a long, quite trek back. No one commented on their state of filth, thankfully. They just let them enter the Assembly. The migraine that had been building while they were down there reached it’s peak when the deshrys started to argue once again. But they had successfully placed Bhelen on the throne, and Rica was safe. Little Endrin was safe. Even Mother was safe. As they left, perhaps for the last time, Oghren silently handed her a flask and she drank deeply. Nodding her thanks, she offered him a bottle she had found, and gave him a tight smile at his thanks. The drink hadn’t helped, her head still felt as though it were to explode. Was it the near constant nightmares? Or perhaps it was simply having seen the archdemon, and the mass that was the horde.

 

She placed a comforting hand on Oghren’s shoulder and led him towards camp, glad that everyone seemed to have survived without them. Food was placed in her hands, and she ate a few bites before wavering a little, plate falling to the ground. Calloused hands pressed into her neck without a word and she let her eyes drop close.  Natia must have fallen asleep, to wake at the smell of food and to find the sky had darkened. Well she had not intended that, not in the least. Picking up her towel and a bar of soap, she headed towards the stream and knew by foot fall alone it was Alistair who was following.

 

He gave her privacy til she was in the water and then he sat on a log, sighing. “I’m an ass.”  
She didn’t comment, merely hummed in agreement as she scrubbed dark spawn guts from her hair.  
"I read a bit about the Casteless. After we were there."  
"Dust town, you can say it Alistair. It’s just a place."  
"Can you read?"

Jerking her head to him, she frowned and looked confused at the sudden awkward segue. He must have realized she couldn’t follow his train of thought, and began to explain, “Well I just was reading that the casteless don’t get any jobs, or help, or schooling. So can you read? I can..teach you. If you want.”

Dunking herself long enough to gather her thoughts, Natia popped back up and sighed. “Rica, my sister, tried to teach me. I was a terrible student, but I learned enough Dwarvish to get by. I could write my name, that was more than most dusters. Beraht got her lessons. Taught her to be a lady. She did what she could when I wasn’t out running for him.” There was a heavy pause, filled with Alistair looking towards the stars and handing her her towel.

 

"Morrigan’s been teaching me since Lothering. That’s what we do in her tent almost every night. If you tell Wynne or Leliana I swear by your minor obsession with your hair and unholy love of fine cheeses I will make your life miserable."

 

Nodding, he gave her a quick hug, before leaving to let her dress. There was more they had to discuss, but for the moment they were alright. Once alone, she let her shoulders relax a little as she listened to the sounds of the night. She dressed quickly, slipping her daggers loose as she heard something move behind her. Spinning she stopped herself from stabbing Zev and huffed.

 

"So, you told him."  
"That I did."  
"The world has not ended yet."  
"No."  
"Hmm good. I have rope I need to find a use for, and I’m sure you can figure out how to use it, cara mia."  
"One day you’ll tell me what that means."  
"And on that day, I will shower you with gifts."  
"Hmm I like sapphires."  
"Good to know."

 

And with that, they walked back to camp, for a few hours of peace, before they returned to Redcliffe, and the Blight.


End file.
